


connection

by fuwaesthetic, sundrymunity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Featuring: Tsukishima's Snark and Sugawara's Kind Heart, Gen, HQBB2014, Soulmate AU, Tanabata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 11:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2386682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundrymunity/pseuds/sundrymunity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where your soulmate's name is on you from birth. Kuroo has Kenma's name, Kenma has Hinata's name, and Hinata really doesn't want to talk about whose name is on his wrist. Shenanigans and Sendai's annual Tanabata Festival ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	connection

**Author's Note:**

> This was a hard sell from start to finish... Hello! I'm Bella (commonly found first at [rivalstruck](http://rivalstruck.tumblr.com) and now located at [capturesexual](http://capturesexual.tumblr.com)) and this is I and [Peace's](http://inthenyxoftime.tumblr.com) contribution to HQBB 2014! We really got in over our heads in the planning and working everything out, but we're both satisfied with the outcome and we hope you will be too!
> 
> Our artist was the beautiful and amazing [Vendobear](http://yunkiyoe.tumblr.com); you can see her art for the fic [over here](http://yunkiyoe.tumblr.com/post/98296400536)! It was a blast seeing her bring scenes to life, and we're honored to have been able to work with her!
> 
> Without further ado, we hope you enjoy our story!

It’s a sour, rainy day when he watches a moving van settle three houses down from his, resting across the road and humming hard in the pattering rain. Kenma shivers when he feels raindrops splatter his skin despite the yellow raincoat he’s wearing and goes inside, through with being outside. Home is warm and full of good smells, and he doesn’t mention the van to his mom; it’s out of sight and out of mind the second the door clicks shut behind him.

A week and a half later, the weather is clearer but he’s not interested in it; he’s interested in the game he’s gotten for his birthday, and the recently turned eight year old turns and twists his blankets around his ankles while he works out puzzles through trial and error. There’s the dim sound of someone racing up the stairs, but Kenma passes it off as the spry cat his mom’s been petsitting lately. The door bursts open instead of getting scratched and, alarmed, Kenma jerks up against his headboard and stares at the intruder through watery eyes and a throbbing in the back of his head.

The boy in his doorway grins at him, hands on his hips and feet set apart slightly, and though Kenma’s not sure why, he shudders at the sight as if an ice cube’s been slipped down the back of his shirt.

 

\--

 

“I moved in, like, a week ago, an’ I was wondering if there was any ‘round my age, and they all said the Kozume house had a kid, so I came right over.” The gentle tap of Kuroo Tetsurou’s sneakers is the only other sound in the room aside from his incessant talking, and he looks over to make sure the other boy’s still listening. He’s still pressed against his headboard, looking much like a scared kitten, and Tetsurou crawls closer on his bed. “Wanna play?”

“No,” the Kozume boy finally squeaks, and Tetsurou finds himself heading down the stairs feeling like he’s been socked in the stomach. It’s weird; he’s had friends before, even shy ones, but nothing’s hurt as much as Kozume’s quiet refusal. Small fingers rub gently at the name on his right wrist and he _knows_ it’s because of the kanji carefully inscribed by the gods above on the thin skin.

“Don’t worry about Ken-chan,” Kozume-san laughs; she’s giving him a sweet pie to take back to his mother (it smells like cinnamon and peaches), and the sunlight beaming through the window is directly at odds with his feelings. Almost like it’s mocking him. Tetsurou frowns at her, not even ashamed to show her how disbelieving he is, and she ruffles his hair. “He’s very shy. Please keep coming over. Between you and I,” and she straightens up, looking a little distractedly while she rubs her apron between her startlingly clean hands, “I’m worried about him. He doesn’t have any friends at school - that I know of - and he rarely goes out. I think…”

Her voice falters, just a moment, and she laughs again. “I think I’d like it if you could become a good friend of his, Tetsu-chan.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises without thinking of the future.

 

\--

 

A month passes, and Kenma feels his mother’s smile thin the harder his hand squeezes hers as they walk down the road to the Kuroo house. It’s their son’s birthday, and with an invitation to the festivities, Kenma’s attending. His mother wouldn’t let him get out of it; not even a coughing fit could stop her, because (as she said) she’s his mother and she knows when he’s faking it.

Kuroo’s eyes light up when he sees them, and he makes no haste in breaking away from his friends - all older, all taller, all curiously looking at Kenma in a way that makes him want to hide behind his mother’s skirt and beg to go home - and coming over. The grin he wears could warm the chilly November air, if it was inclined to, but freezing fingers just make their way around his sides and trap the breath in his chest while his mother and Kuroo talk like old friends. His mother’s hand on his back is a stamp of betrayal, warm and firm, and she leaves him to join the other mothers across the yard.

Kuroo grabs his hands - Kenma feels lightning shoot up his arm, through his bones and his nerves are too hot, his brain’s moving too fast, and Kuroo’s pulling him excitedly to the congregation of boys he’d left in the first place.

“Kozume Kenma,” the birthday boy introduces, and Kenma remembers every single one of their names even though he never meets them again.

(Hara Yukinaga, a pig-faced boy; Kate Kei, a boy with freckles stretching from his hair to beneath his nailbeds; Kurotani Takanori, a boy with a smile that could split the sun in half and still keep Japan bright; and Igarashi Kagehisa, a boy bigger than even Kuroo and with an air that marked him as the ringleader.)

Kuroo plays a good host, likely asked by his mom to, and tries to pull Kenma into everything they do. From tag to hide and seek, from mudballs to kicking rocks and the soda cans they empty one by one. For anyone else, it’d be a blessing; but the hand on his arm just makes him feel sick, and twice he has to excuse himself to the bathroom. It’s mostly to be alone, to curl up on the warm tile and close his eyes against the floor’s grooves. The first time he returns without prompting, steeled by the shouts of cake; the second time he stays there, tears brimming in his eyes. There’s two knocks on the door before Kuroo’s mother steps in and gasps, pulls Kenma into her lap and asks him if he’s sick, if he’s not feeling well, should she get his mom, does he need to go home?

He says yes too easily and can’t ignore the curious, disappointed stares of the other boys, or the way his mother sighs -- soft, like she hadn’t meant for him to hear -- and says, “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

(Disappointed, regretful, and Kenma imagines himself apologizing to his mom for the trouble he’s suddenly realized he’s put her through all these years.

It isn’t something he can help, though.)

 

\--

 

“Is Kenma home?” he asks, and Kozume-san’s forehead gets another crease before she nods; she motions up the stairs and he thumps up them. He’s been nine for two days, and with a new age comes a new sense of responsibility -- and after Kenma’d gone home, he’d thought about what that responsibility was.

It’s to do as Kozume-san asked, of course. Not just for her -- for himself (because the other boys lived too far) and for Kenma (who, he decided, really did have a sore lack of friends and social skills). He knocks twice before he enters the younger boy’s room, words on his lips before he’s even working out how to say them. 

“Let’s go out and play.”

Kenma looks at him like he’s grown a second head - or like he’s just barged in, uninvited, into his room - and shakes his head immediately. The Kenma on the bed tilts in his view and he runs up a few steps before he takes a fantastic flying leap onto the striped sheets. Kenma jerks his feet away before he lands and crosses them against his thighs; Tetsurou sits up on his elbows and stares at him, chin on the heels of his hands.

“Why not?”

“I don’t like you,” Kenma replies after a pause longer than the distance between their houses, and Tetsurou folds his arms beneath his cheek. The wall is a faded navy from where the window’s let in light over the years, and his gut hurts just like the first day they met. He closes his eyes and listens to Kenma readjust himself slowly, feet sinking on either side of him. It’s never comfortable, always tense, but he doesn’t want to leave and Kenma doesn’t want to talk.

He stays over for an impromptu sleepover at Kozume-san’s request, despite Kenma’s furrowed brow and his own growing anxiety. The ceiling is plain and white above his head, the floor uncomfortable even with his sleeping bag, and he listens to the quiet music of Kenma’s game as the numbers on the other’s clock shift higher and higher. It’s the most uncomfortable sleepover he’s ever had, and he shrugs when his mom comes by to walk him home.

“I don’t think I’d want to do it again,” he finally says and tries not to let the tears prickling at the edges of his eyes fall when his mom sets her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it.

“Why not find something you’re both interested in?” She suggests, and Tetsurou doesn’t take it to heart until he’s knocking a volleyball between his feet on the floor of his recently cleaned room. Back and forth, back and forth, and he slams his palms against the smooth exterior with the spark of an idea barely registering beneath his fingertips.

 

\--

 

Kenma isn’t sure why Kuroo keeps coming over.

It isn’t every day, but it’s often enough to wonder if maybe being friends is an option. Today’s intrusion is accompanied by a toy - a ball - and he catches himself staring at it long enough for Kuroo to grin and hold it out to him. Kenma pauses his game but takes his time getting out of bed, trying not to look too eager to investigate whatever it is Kuroo’s decided to bring. Not that he gets the chance; Kuroo holds it above his head and Kenma, already short for his age, finds the tips of his fingers barely reaching it.

“Wanna play?” Kuroo asks, sincere if smug, and Kenma backs off with an automatic shake of his head. The grin wanes and Kenma studies how something dims in this brown eyes, how his arms seem to shake just a little and how he shifts back, lowering the volleyball between them. Kuroo still holds it out, letting it roll into Kenma’s hands when he finally opens them, and his shoulders tighten up when he takes a breath.

“Just for a little while?”

Kenma purses his lips, turning the ball over and over in his hands, his thumb dragging along the grooves, and does something he hopes he won’t regret (and never, ever does):

he agrees.

 

\--

 

It’s a few months short of a year into their tenuous friendship (and a few months short of knowing each other for a year) that Kenma lays in the summer sun and watches Kuroo rally the ball above his head. It’s too hot and there’s too many bugs - especially being next to the riverbed, a cooling slope with water when they need to get sweat off sun-kissed skin (or sunburnt skin, in Kenma’s case) - but it’s an open enough space that isn’t too far from their houses but not too close, either.

It’s perfect, essentially.

“Why me?” he asks, disrupting their perfect peace. The volleyball falls into Kuroo’s hands and he turns his head over, eyebrows knitting together. It’s apparent he’s no mind-reader (not yet), and Kenma squelches the butterflies in his stomach while he sits up. The heels of his hands press into the soft ground beneath him while he tries to loosen his tongue, and Kuroo waits for him to speak.

It’s a lesson he had to learn and it’s one Kenma’s grateful he picked up.

“To hang out with.” The words are awkward and clumsy, but they’re there. Kuroo frowns at him, and Kenma wonders if maybe he’s made a mistake -- maybe you’re not supposed to ask something like that when you haven’t even known each other for a full year yet -- and yelps when his company tugs him up to standing.

“‘Cause I’ve got your name on my wrist,” Kuroo states, rather matter-of-factly for his age, and a grin breaks out over his face when he turns his wrist over, volleyball tucked beneath his arm. There it is: his name, as if inked or painted. Kenma’s fingers shake when he reaches out to touch it -- he catches Kuroo’s slight jerking motion, the way his face colors a little as Kenma traces his characters shakily, and he looks up with his throat seizing up and feeling numb to the summer heat.

He asks a question he’s not sure if he wants to hear the answer to, and Kuroo looks down at his wrist before he curls his fingers back and his arm with them and shakes his head.

“‘Course not. Well,” he pauses and Kenma hears his heart hit the bottom of his ribs, feels it pulsing there, unexpectedly sad and hollow (because as much as he’d like to deny it, Kuroo’s grown on him like barnacles on a boat or fungus on a decaying tree), “maybe a little at first, but.

“But we’re friends now.” Kuroo finishes, only pausing between ‘buts’ to swallow something Kenma can’t identify. It doesn’t make Kenma feel better, but it doesn’t make him feel worse either, so he nods and holds the name on his own right wrist tightly out of view.

 

\--

 

Tetsurou’s not sure when it starts, but the older they get - eight into nine with nine into ten a month after, nine into ten and ten into eleven with the same distance between them - the sicker Kenma looks when he looks at his wrist.

He finds out beneath a pastel lamp and the carefully creased edges of a paper crane. It’s a fascination he doesn’t understand but knows Kenma loves, with the amount of cranes decorating his shelves and in boxes beneath his bed, and they’re at least pretty cute to look at; but the wishes written beneath their wings are less than that. They range from _i wish he’d leave me alone_ to _i hope we’ll stay friends_ and sometimes, just simply, his name. Kenma barrels him over when he wakes up to Tetsurou’s snooping and the cranes he’d been looking at crumple under Kenma’s arms. The lamp falls too, swerving its light beneath Kenma’s bed and framing their shadows on the wall.

“They’re nothing special,” he whispers in the too bright light. It’s been two and a half years and Tetsurou’s still learning to read Kenma’s tone and manners, but the frustration and pleading in his voice is spilling over his lips and the older boy swallows it like he swallows air, feeling it build in his chest alongside a keen awareness that something about this isn’t right but he’s too young to really grasp what it is and too young to understand it, so he tosses it away and kneels next to Kenma instead. He hugs him, lips twitching at a boney shoulder digging into the groove of his collarbone, and waits until Kenma’s breathing evens back into sleep so he can tuck him back into bed and clean up the bruised and battered cranes.

 

\--

 

“Does it bother you that I don’t have your name?”

“Not really.” Kuroo ghosts his fingers on Kenma’s wrist, goosebumps following it, and he holds it firmly to keep Kenma from jumping at summer heat in the musty gymnasium. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

He resents how easy it is for Kuroo to say it doesn’t matter, fingers wrapped like a cold compress over his sore and swollen wrist (today’s injury from a misjudged receive). It's easy for Kuroo, because the name on his wrist isn't a pair of twin suns scorched onto his skin, raised up like the tori of a shrine. Kenma presses his nails into the palm of his hand, everything thin and tense while he stares at his taller best friend; none of that leaves when Kuroo lets him go to switch out his hand for a proper compress.

“I don't care what name you've got,” he sighs when he turns back; there are lines Kenma thought he'd never see on someone only thirteen years old, and he wonders if those are his fault as Kuroo carefully wraps his wrist up. The compress is cool, as expected, but he still can't help but jump at the chill. Kuroo's fingers press it against his wrist, and Kenma feels drawn to his steady gaze and its matching grin. “We're in this together, for as long as you want.”

It’s a promise that lasts them through the next four years.

 

\--

 

The gentle buzz of his phone stirs Kenma out of his summer stupor; he sits up, rubbing his eyes with one hand while running his other across his sheets for the source. It vibrates gently in his hand one last time before he swipes his thumb over it, blinking blearily at the sender. Right. He’d been talking to Shouyou. He scrolls past the messages until he gets to the latest, and only relevant, one.

' _still, it must be rly nice living in the city!!! miyagi is kind of boring to you, isn't it???_ ' Shouyou's warm and energetic even through text, and Kenma shrugs as he types back, quiet in an empty room.

' _i guess so... but sendai has a big festival for tanabata too, right? tokyo's already past... it was pretty fun._ ' Kuroo had made him go with the rest of the team, claiming it was a "bonding" activity, and Tora ended up being the quietest out of the whole bunch because of all the girls. Lev had won a lot of prizes... _Not as many as I did though,_ Kenma thinks as he glances at the bag yet to be unpacked almost a month later with a small yawn.

' _you bet!!! its the biggest and best (in miyagi) and if you go, we can meet up!! we'll hang out during the festival and have a ton of fun and stuff!!!!!! i'll pay!!!_ '

Kenma rolls onto his back, stretches on the sun warmed blankets, and smiles a little. Hanging out with Shouyou... Outside of any kind of volleyball related activity. He glances at his right wrist, a string tugging to his heart, and averts his eyes from it as he replies. _That_ had nothing to do with his happiness. He’s sure of it. Even if he’d been waiting a while - in anticipation and in fear - to meet the person he’d been tattooed with since infancy, being happy to see Shouyou is just being happy to see Shouyou; as friends instead of opponents or as lost strangers.

The fact his name happened to be the one on his wrist really, definitely, truly didn’t matter.

' _sure._ '

He manages to fall asleep again to the soft buzzing of his phone as Shouyou talks all about what they're going to do, probably, and cracks open an eye when he hears voices from outside. Kuroo and his mom's. He arches his back as his childhood friend comes in without knocking, Kuroo's name a sigh on his lips, and rolls to the side when the other tries to pounce on him.

"Why would you even try?" He asks the taller teen, squirming away when he feels Kuroo's arm wrap around his middle and turning his head when he's pulled close. The body heat would be nicer in winter... but he can't deny that it isn't nice now too. His eyes stray to Kuroo's exposed right wrist and he turns fully, burying his face into the other's chest as laughter rumbles through it. "... Stop that."

"Stop what?"

Kenma shakes his head, closing his eyes, and mumbles, "Can you grab my phone? Shouyou and I were talking."

Kuroo reaches over him and grabs it, dropping it between them. Kenma unlocks it and reads Shouyou's messages. Various festival activities they can do - the games are closest to his heart - and eateries, mentioning he'll probably be taking his little sister along for at least a day, how they could all wear yukatas and play with fireworks...

' _are you gonna stay the whole week??? i'm prob only gonna be there for the three festival days._ '

Kenma wonders if he should be. Being there alone wasn't exactly his cup of tea, either... He feels Kuroo playing with his hair, tugging on it for attention, and just this once he gives him it.

"Kuro, Sendai's holding a Tanabata festival in August. Next week." There's a question in his words - _Will you come with me?_ \- and Kenma hopes he gets it. Kuroo hums, thinking, and props himself up with his arm.

"That sounds nice. Did the shrimp invite you to it?"

Kenma frowns at the teasing tone, moving away as punishment, and huffs. "... He did."

"And you want to go. Because he's your soulmate?" Kenma shakes his head. ...maybe just a little, if he wanted to be honest with himself, just like how Kuroo wanted to be friends with him in the beginning just because he had Kenma’s name on his wrist. But mostly because... It's Shouyou, someone he’s talked to without hesitation after their first day and who never stops texting him and doesn’t mind waiting on a reply, picking up conversations right where they left off as easily as breathing. "Ahh, to be young and in lo--"

Kuroo wheezes as Kenma headbutts him and retreats, tapping out his reply.

' _probably._ ' He pauses, then looks up at his friend questioningly. As soon as he gets a nod, he adds on, ' _kuro's coming w/me._ '

The reply is nearly instant and it makes Kenma wonder if Shouyou's waiting eagerly for him, staring at his phone like how Kenma is now. ' _that scary tall guy?? i mean, your captain???_ '

' _uh huh. is that ok?_ '

Now there's a pause, a lull in their conversation, and it gives Kuroo enough time to tease him about how fast he replies - compared to the usual laid back, lazy typing he's used to. Kenma headbutts him again, lighter this time, and turns away so his back's against the other's chest. He feels the hum before he hears it and ignores the arm tightening around his waist as Kuroo tenses up and relaxes in a stretch.

 _'that's fine!!! i'm bringing my little sister - her name's natsu - with me on one of the days, so it's kinda like a trade off.'_ Kenma breathes a soft sigh, closing his eyes as he rubs his thumb on the side of the phone, and pulls away when he feels Kuroo's hand sliding near his wrist. When it persists, he gives the third year a dirty look and knows Kuroo's patience is waning.

_'ok. i'll text u later.'_

_'looking forward to it!!!!'_

Kenma cranes his neck backwards and Kuroo looks down at him boredly. "Don't do that."

"You know, you _could_ tell him." His best friend's hand is lightning quick in catching Kenma's wrist, but his grip is loose and he rubs the kanji that seem like they've been more or less etched into his skin with his calloused thumb. Kenma frowns, clearly uncomfortable, and Kuroo lays their hands on top of each other as Kenma feels the grin in his tone. "Are you gonna? It'd be pretty sweet. Tanabata's supposed to be a really lucky time for that kind of thing."

They’d affirmed something special, something secret, under similar circumstances, hadn’t they? Minus the festival, but with the same sweltering summer. It wouldn’t be any different because it didn’t have to be; just because Tanabata is for lovers and for good luck in relationships doesn’t mean things have to go in that direction, or that they will.

(But he feels like if he lets it, gives the snowball even the tiniest nudge in that direction, an avalanche will come flying down instead. He doesn’t like the cold enough to crumple under the weight of snow and uncontrolled feelings.)

Kenma stares at their hands, then inches his fingers through Kuroo's with a huffy sigh. "Don't wanna. It'll be too much trouble, and he doesn't care, so... Just forget it."

"Hmmm. I wonder who he's got. He seems like the kinda guy - unlike you - to go up to the person and tell them, don't you think so?"

The pudding head grunts and shakes his head. "Can't. He doesn't get along that well with his person, apparently."

"Nothing like us, huh?" Kuroo sits up and pulls Kenma with him, the dead weight nothing, dragging him off the bed. His destination's the Wii sitting pretty in the corner, and Kenma untangles himself from his grasp as Kuroo asks, "How about a round or three? Kenma."

Kenma hums affirmatively and doesn’t resist when Kuroo tugs him back between his legs, controller gripped firmly in his hands.

 

\--

 

Shouyou can think of nothing but the upcoming festival. He tosses and turns so much, paces across his room so often, that even his mom’s told him to settle down. Natsu still sees him off early for practice, even if she complains about his overabundance of energy (only _idiots_ have that much), and the ride there doesn’t take off his edge.

Sendai’s Tanabata Festival is like any other. But it’s still fun! He’d been there last with his family, one year in middle school, and the sight of the brightly colored streamers were as etched into his mind as the characters on his wrist. The wind catches his yells as he rides down the hill, heart pounding and feet free of the pedals.

Where volleyball usually consumes him and makes him complain the time’s too short and he and Kageyama practice longer on their own if they’ve got energy to spare, Shouyou finds himself looking more at the clock than at the toss he’s getting from Sugawara-san. He bounces from one foot to the other, watching the hands drag slowly behind the bars, and jumps a little when he hears Kageyama’s familiar start.

“Oi--”

“Is something up, Hinata? You’re being awfully fidgety, even for yourself.” Sugawara-san’s cut in instantly deflates Kageyama, a sour look on the first year’s face. Shouyou feels a burst of excitement drum up from within and he spins on his heel, laughing.

“I got a text from Kenma! Actually, we’ve been talking a lot recently! I invited him to Sendai’s Tanabata festival since Tokyo already had theirs and all, back in July, and he’s gonna stay there the week while the festival’s going on! I’m gonna be going all three days - once with Natsu too - and he’s taking his scary captain with him, which is okay because I’d hate Kenma to be alone since he seems really lonely without someone around, and--”

“Oh? Are you really excited for something stupid like that?” Tsukishima sneers and Shouyou feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. “Are you planning on telling him that he’s your soulmate?”

There’s a heavy drop in his stomach and he feels his throat tighten just as his fists do, gritting his teeth. It’d be nicer if Kenma was his soulmate. But that’s just not how it is, and Shouyou flicks a glance to Kageyama as he shoves his wrist into his thigh, the characters practically burning his skin. The setter gives him a confused, then disgruntled look, and Shouyou wonders what he’s thinking about this time.

“No,” he finally replies to break the tense air, “he’s not my soulmate. But Kenma’s still my good friend, so I’m gonna go with him.”

He knows Tsukishima’s about to say something else when the captain gives him a look and he snaps his trap, face impassive like he wasn’t. Yamaguchi catches Shouyou’s eye and smiles a little apologetically, and he returns it. It’s fine. It’s whatever. Soulmates aren’t that important. There’s a holler and they get back to practicing, but he can’t concentrate on what he needs to be spiking.

Especially since he’s paired with Kageyama right now. He watches the ball arc and loves the feeling of the sting against his palm as usual, but his wrist burns when he looks at the setter. He shifts from one foot to the other and goes each time he’s expected, until finally the squeeze in his chest is too painful and awkward to bear. He escapes when they take a small break, the door shutting at the same time the ball drops with an empty thump behind Kageyama.

The summer’s warm breeze sweeps out every bit of stuffiness Shouyou feels and he stands there, listening to the dying cries of the cicada and the muffled sounds of practice inside.

 

\--

 

“I don’t really care about the whole soulmate thing,” Shouyou mutters as he presses his cheek into his folded knees and stares at Yamaguchi. Apparently he’d drawn the short straw. He’s not really surprised at the look his friend gives him either - soulmates were all anybody talked about, wrote about, sang about. Someone not caring about them was as odd as the quick he and Kageyama had fleshed out and perfected. Troublesome. He plays with the empty bag beside him, wishing he hadn’t devoured the gummy worms so fast, and shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like it’s always gonna work out and all. And what if you like someone else?”

“Well, yeah, that’s true... That’d suck a lot if the person you liked wasn’t your soulmate, or if they liked someone else while being on your wrist.” Yamaguchi rubs his own, and Shouyou wonders who it is. Maybe Yachi-san? They had a pretty nice thing going on, or so Tanaka-san and Noya-san teased.

“Right? So, like, it doesn’t even matter.”

It might be a little mean - that it doesn’t matter just because he thinks so - and Yamaguchi leans back against the wall. “You can’t deny that it feels like it draws you towards them though, like a string or something. And they change you for better or worse.”

Or so it’s been claimed. Shouyou thinks about Kageyama and how he’s changed the past half year, how different he was when he’d been that solitary king of the court. But that was all of Karasuno. Not just him. And wouldn’t it be that Kageyama changed him somehow, not the other way around?

... The drawing thing was right though. The moment he’d seen that killjoy’s cold demeanor and heard his harsh words, anger rippling inside him, there’d been something there. Rivalry. Someone to beat. His greatest opponent, and now his greatest ally. Shouyou rolls it around in his head. Even now he feels like he should go back and make sure Kageyama’s not overthinking things or being a total ass to people.

Was that what being a soulmate to someone was about?

“Who’s on your wrist, Yamaguchi? I mean, you don’t gotta say or anything, I’m just curious.”

“Oh. Uh, it’s...” He fidgets, laying his wrist on his knee, and colors at the burst of laughter from Shouyou. Oh, man, oh god that was too fun, but for some reason it fit that--

“Tsukishima! You got _that_ jerk!”

He laughs so hard he almost falls over, but realizes when he catches himself that laughing was mean and apologizes for it. Yamaguchi waves it off, staring at the characters on his wrist. “Tsukki’s just Tsukki. He, uh, has a hard time expressing himself, that’s all.”

“More like he has a hard time not being a bastard. I always wondered how a guy like you was friends with him,” knocks their knees together as he leans closer and lowers his voice like they’re sharing secrets, “is it because he’s on your wrist?”

That seems like the only reason anyone’d be around Tsukishima. Like, he was a pretty okay guy sometimes he guesses, but most of the time he was just. Ugh. Shouyou scrunches his nose and perks up when Yamaguchi shakes his head.

“It might’ve been because of this,” a shake of his wrist, “that I met Tsukki, but it’s not the reason I stuck with him. I’m really glad I did though. I don’t know if that changing thing is real, but... I’m definitely not who I was back then.”

It’s like a mysterious history thing. Shouyou lays his head back on his knees, staring at the lines clear to be seen on the wrist laid flat, and turns away to look at his own. The stiff, complicated kanji face him, a regal bearing all their own, prideful yet not so arrogant. Kageyama’s name reads across his skin and he thinks about Yamaguchi’s words.

“Okay, but has Tsukishima _always_ been like this?”

The fellow first year laugh, nodding. “Yeah. He’s gotten better about some things, of course, but Tsukki’s pretty much as cool as I first met him. That’s why I wanted to say something to him, like how you do with Kageyama and with Yachi-san. He’s...” and he hesitates enough that Shouyou looks back over, tucking his wrist away under his chin, “Tsukki’s important to me. Even outside of, you know. The wrist thing. He’s my best friend.”

And, even outside ‘the wrist thing’ as it was thereafter dubbed, he and Kageyama were still partners. Shouyou flexes his fist, turning his hand around and stretching the kanji as he moves his wrist around. “Do you think I should tell them?”

“If you want? But I don’t think you have to or anything...”

That’s a relief. He doesn’t have to just because they’re on the same team or anything. It’s not like they’re gonna split up all of a sudden either. After all, they were going to the top of the world together. The more Shouyou thinks about it, thinks about their vow to keep challenging each other no matter how long it takes for a solid victory on either end, and doesn’t have to force his grin. He stands up suddenly enough for it to alarm Yamaguchi and beams at the other, the plastic of the empty bag crunched away into the nearby bin.

“Thanks, Yamaguchi! I’m okay now, and I gotta apologize to everyone for leaving like that... Captain’s gonna be really mad at me.” But despite the looming threat of the third year’s wrath, Shouyou feels light and warm. Yamaguchi stands up after him, a little puzzled as he’s dragged towards the door.

“Say, uh, who is on your wrist, Hinata?”

Shouyou pauses midstep, smile faltering for a moment as words stumble out of his mouth. “Oh, well, it’s no one really, just somebody I know who probably doesn’t even think about anything but this one thing because they’re a dumbass like that. I’m not gonna tell them either. Not yet. I’ve gotta win first.”

“Win?”

But that question goes unanswered with Shouyou’s firm footfalls, slamming open the gym doors with a loud apology rolling off like thunder.

 

\--

 

He'd prepared himself for the train to Sendai, and just as during Golden Week Kuroo took care of it all. Kenma leans against his childhood friend, watching outside the window as the country rolled along, and feels a tap on his leg as an earbud's offered to him. Though he'd carefully charged and packed his games for the week long stay, it felt too loud to play them in the quiet of the rumbling train. Kenma takes the offered earbud and puts it in, the sound of rock distracting him from the amount of people.

The giggling of girls - and, more importantly, the mention of Sendai’s festival - catches Kenma’s open ear. Despite the overwhelming regret he feels already working at the back of his mind, he turns his head enough to eavesdrop properly and instinctively tugs his hoodie’s sleeve down over his hand at their super duper totally fool proof plan of finding their soulmates during the city’s celebrations. He keeps his head low, avoiding Kuroo's questioning gaze, but the lingering touch of it makes his lips purse and he curls his fingers into his sleeves firmly.

"... I'm not going just because his name's on my wrist," he stubbornly mutters, and Kuroo chuckles.

"I'm not accusing you," he near sings -- but he had teased him before, and Kenma only harrumphs in reply. The dark haired teen sighs and wraps an arm around Kenma's shoulders, pulling him into the crook of his body, and drops his hand down to his waist. Kenma lets him, because it's comforting and not that much of a bother, and the earbud doesn’t feel as if it’s about to pop out at any second anymore. "You shouldn't eavesdrop, anyway."

Kenma shrugs, closing his eyes and relaxing against Kuroo. The other taps to the rhythm of their music onto Kenma's thigh and sings the chorus beneath his breath. He peeks open his eyes just to see if Kuroo's got his eyes closed and, when he does, closes his own again with a sigh. "Don't fall asleep, Kuro."

Kuroo snorts, fingers swerving bits and pieces of lyrics against Kenma’s pants, "I won't. Unlike you, I got a full night's sleep."

The jab makes him twitch and he frowns, reaching over to brush Kuroo’s fingers away. His company makes a tsking sound - likely at himself, especially with the accompanying “I stepped too far, huh?” - and he lets Kuroo brush their knuckles together. The music doesn’t fit the mood, and the song that shades in next is slower, sweeter, and makes Kenma chuckle. It doesn’t fit Kuroo at all, and when he murmurs so Kuroo snorts and reaches up to scratch his cheek sheepishly.

"A girl suggested it to me." Kenma quirks up at him, going so far as to even look up and open his eyes  for it; Kuroo colors a little and averts his gaze out the window, fingers tapping his music player. "It's not bad, so I figured I'd just stick it in."

"She was probably hoping you'd get a hint about her feelings for you.” At least, it sounds that way; the chorus repeats another time and Kenma nods to himself, keeping an involuntary beat with the soft pat of his sneakers on the train’s metal floor. It’s like something out of a shoujo manga -- though imagining Kuroo as the love interest in one makes him bite his lip and Kuroo smacks his shoulder lightly.

"I never would’ve guessed," he replies a moment later, dry enough to get Kenma turning his face into Kuroo’s shoulder to hide his smile. Kuroo grins; he’s sure of that, because Kuroo always grins when he thinks (or knows) he’s gotten Kenma out of an ill mood, and the hand that drifts down from scratching his cheek tangles with his own. It’s comfortable, resting like this, and maybe the moment’s passed but he still turns his cheek against Kuroo’s shoulder and sighs.

“Why don’t you go out with her?”

“Why should I?”

It’s not a bad question, and Kenma fumbles with it while Kuroo skips through songs and settles on something instrumental. It sounds a little like something from a game he’s played once or twice, and he imagines fighting feelings and twisted tongues instead of monsters and evil sorcerers.

"Why not?” He even surprised himself with the two words, but he can’t just end it there. There’s not enough for Kuroo to answer by, and it doesn’t explain why he’s asked. Kenma pieces together words and Kuroo waits patiently, humming to the melody until Kenma taps his side for attention. “It’s not like you have to stick with just me just because my name’s on your wrist.” He doesn’t trace the characters, remembering the static from the first time he did it, but frowns up at his best friend. “That’d be stupid.”

"It would be,” Kuroo agrees, and he pauses the music. People chat excitedly around them, the train thrums beneath them, and Kenma holds his tongue while he waits for him to finish. “And I’m not. But I am graduating next year and she's got two ahead of her."

That's not the real reason. It's one of them, but it's not the one, even if that one’s only something he’s got a hunch about and feels the same panic about asking about that he does about telling Shouyou just whose name litters his wrist like scabs scratched at and scarred against his veins. Kuroo reaches over and grabs his hand - his right, Kenma’s left - and locks their fingers together on their lap. "Not satisfied?"

Kenma shakes his head, but he doesn’t move his hand and Kuroo doesn’t say anything; he just strokes the side of his hand with his thumb idly, watching the time shift numbers on his music player. Kenma watches too, until boredom takes over and he dozes off to the rumbling under them.

 

\--

 

 _It'd be easier_ , Kenma thinks as he wipes the summer sweat off his hands and onto Kuroo's pants (pointedly ignoring the displeased sound the latter makes), _if I had Kuro's name on my wrist._

It's something he thought about as a kid too, but... Shouyou’s name isn’t either, not as bad as he thought it’d be growing up and being nervous anxious over how his and Kuroo’s names didn’t match up, how they didn’t even work in fitting together -- two right hands, instead of a complete pair. But it isn’t bad to have Shouyou’s name because he’s kind and bright, he’s energetic and friendly in a way that soaks through Kenma’s taciturn nature and melts it every time they talk. It’d taken Kuroo a persistent while to do that, though Kenma chalks it up to the sincere interest Shouyou'd shown in him when they met and their exchange in numbers. Texting really helped. He'd learned a lot about Shouyou then, too.

Like how Shouyou had a little sister named Natsu, which was nice because they both come from something warm, and he had a shiba inu friend named Lucky, who he played with before and after practices. And how Shouyou's house was in a pretty small town area and he rode through it on his bike every morning and evening, to and from school, and had for years. The mountains are pretty and fun to ride through, but it's the straights he loves the best, because he loves how fast he can go on them.

The wind's amazing, or so he said.

He’s learned that Shouyou likes the color blue, especially the kind the sky is in the afternoon, and likes sunny weather. He doesn't mind rain that much, and snow's welcome too! Even if it's hard to ride through unless he's got the right tires on his bike. Kenma knows he hopes it snows this year, because snow’s pretty and he gets to see Natsu toddle around in her bundles of clothing (because, as Shoyuou’s said - the laugh evident even through text - she gets sick pretty easily, being so young). He thinks it's cool that Kenma and Kuroo've been friends since childhood - he never really had anything like that himself - and wishes he could've been Kenma's friend then, too, but also not really, because then he would've been a cat instead of a crow. He’s learned that his birthday’s in June, on the 21st, and that his mom had always teased him for being born on the longest day of the year, and ever since he read that tidbit of information Kenma’s thought that it fits him.

But he didn't say so then, and he doesn’t think he ever will. It’s an embarrassing thing to even think, much less say -- text or otherwise. It makes his stomach curl just thinking about doing it, feelings mixed.

He learns that Hinata's soulmate is on his team, but the text finishes lamely with a ' _it doesn't matter anyway wwww_.'

Kenma wonders if they're the same, if all three of them have the names of someone who has someone else's name, and watches the scenery rolling past slow as they come to the next stop. The automated voice tells them that they've got two more until they reach Sendai's station, and he pushes against Kuroo's side.

"Kuro," he murmurs, throat dry. Licking his lips, Kenma reaches into Kuroo's bag to get a warm bottle of water, frowning when the older teen chuckles and pets his head. "You didn't fall asleep, right?"

"Nope. You did, though. It was pretty cute how you kept saying Shorty's name in your sleep."

Kenma huffs slightly, pressing his back against the seat; it’s sticky with the hot air and with sweat, mildly uncomfortable but better than having to stand. Kuroo's grin stays and he ruffles the other's hair. "You weren't dreaming of anything dirty, were you? My, my, what a growing young man--"

"I wasn't." _I'm not you_ , his tone says, and Kuroo smirks. Kenma takes the hand off his head, turning it to the side to study the name inscribed below his palm. The kanji are clean and unmarred, unlike some of his classmate's, a dark tattoo against Kuroo's skin. It'd be nice to look at if it didn't cause Kenma to think of his own, still vibrant despite how often he rubs it. It’s habit to at this point, when he doesn’t have anything else to occupy his hands, and even if he’s okay with it being Shouyou... it’s still not Kuroo. The thought that’s lurked in the back of his mind - that it’s a sign they’re not really meant to be together, friendship or otherwise - always sneaks out after he’s put down his game or set aside his homework for the night, and in quiet moments like now. He drops Kuroo’s hand, pressing his fingers together instead, and glances up at him.

"Two stops."

"Alright. I'll wake you up if you want, but there's gonna be plenty of time to nap outside of now, too." Kuroo lays his arm across Kenma's shoulders, pulling him close again; Kenma hums lazily with the motion, nestling against his chest. "Don't get dehydrated. And we'll get something to eat once we're off too, so be mindful you don't fill yourself with water."

"I won't, Mom."

Kuroo gives him a solid noogie until Kenma goes limp, resigning to petting his head instead. The blond stares up at him, watching his absentminded look direct itself out the window, then settles into the crook of the other's body and takes out his phone to play games on it; he barely feels Kuroo's hands skillfully removing the device from him as he drifts off a second time, content with the way things are.

 

\--

 

“So what were you being an idiot about this time?” Kageyama’s voice makes Shouyou jump right out of his skin. And literally jump too, shooting into the air like he would for a spike. The setter’s staring him down with such an intense expression he has to avert his eyes from it as he laughs. Where was everyone else? Why was it just them in the clubroom?

“Oh, you know, nothing! Nothing at all--”

Kageyama cuts off his words, anger carrying his tone, but the words are more... hurt than anything. He thinks they’re hurt anyway. “You can’t talk to me about it?”

They make Shouyou feel guilty. He scuffs his shoe as he makes sure it’s nice and snug, staring down at the ground with no reply. He sees the other’s hands clench and panics.

“I-It’s not that! I mean, it’s just stupid! I’m totally okay now!” The hands loosen for just a moment, but they’re still pretty tense. His wrists are regrettably covered too. Shouyou licks his lips, peeking up at Kageyama’s inquisitive expression through his mess of bangs. The setter opens his mouth and then closes it, lips pressed tight.

“It’s about what Tsukishima said, right? About your soulmate.” Kageyama isn’t done talking, he knows, because the way his brows furrow tell him so. “Who cares? It’s dumb.”

It’s out in the air now. It’s dumb, Kageyama says, and Shouyou feels a swirl of disappointment and glee. That more or less matched up with his own thoughts, but to be told that by the name on his wrist... He bites the inside of his cheek, unsure of how to feel.

“Yeah,” he finally replies on a breath, “it is. I mean, who cares, right? We should just focus on our next opponent.”

Shouyou hopes his voice doesn’t crack the way his mind thinks it does, and judging from Kageyama’s satisfied expression it doesn’t.

“Right.”

They stand there together, Shouyou’s eyes drifting down to Kageyama’s wrist, and he awkwardly points at it. “So, um, who’s yours, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he hears Kageyama say in the same way that he usually thinks it, “they wouldn’t care anyway. I don’t care.”

In resolute denial that it’d ever matter. Shouyou feels glum, but grins as he teases his partner. “I bet that’s because they wouldn’t be able to stand your attitude, Kageyama~.”

Kageyama scowls and he thinks he’s done in, he’s finally pressed the button that’ll lead to his death, and is relieved when the other’s hand comes down on his head in the familiar Iron Grip. Even if he cries out in mostly mock pain.

“I don’t see how they could stand you, dumbass!”

They trade insults back and forth, the familiarity of the situation easing Shouyou’s mind, and he lets himself enjoy the way Kageyama’s face reddens when he teases him about a possible crush on one of their managers.

It doesn’t matter, anyway.

 

\--

 

The festival is fun, first day. The streamers are beautiful and remind Kenma of home, but they also have their own charm about them... Or maybe it just seems that way as Shouyou keeps close to him, the hand holding his own warm (and his wrist warmer still, as if the kanji there are blushing by being so close to the owner of their name), and talks over the crowds. This situation would usually stress out the pudding head to the point of exhaustion, but he doesn't mind it so much. Kenma's other hand is lagging behind, held by Kuroo to keep him from losing them in the crowds, and it takes a few nervous glances from Shouyou before he gets it.

"He's harmless," Kenma leans close as he whispers, lips close to the red-head's ear, "really."

"I know! He's just..." Shouyou takes another look back and screeches at the close proximity of Kuroo's wide grin. It disappears into an expression of pain as Kenma catches his childhood friend's toe on his heel.

"He's just a lot of trouble."

"Aw, you make me sound like such a bad guy, Kenma," Kuroo complains, pausing just to check his bare toes and slinking easily through the crowd back to them. "I can leave you alone if you want. There's a few things I want to check out while I'm here, anyway, so it's not problem."

But even as he's saying that, Kenma feels Kuroo watching him for the slightest bit of hesitation. The other'd always been protective of him - kind of like a brother? maybe? - and definitely in a place so crowded... Shouyou looks at him too, curious for the answer, and he tugs them both to a food stand.

"Kuroo pays," is his answer, and he wonders if he'll be able to part later… or if Kuroo’ll take matters into his own hands, as he’s always done when it came to Kenma’s reserved nature.

The latter is the one that ends up happening, of course. Kenma feels Kuroo’s whisper right by his ear - have some fun without me, I’ll be back - and grips Shouyou’s hand tight as they wander through the crowd, suddenly chaperoneless. There’s masks for sale at a nearby shop, and they buy two; Tikachu for Shouyou and a traditional fox for Kenma, pooling their allowances together and exchanged them. Kenma smiles as Shouyou carefully fixes his gifted mask on the side of his head, though his head turns towards the smell of takoyaki cooking not much further along. The closer they get, the more overpowering the rest of the food stalls smell, and they buy a box before they escape for clearer, calmer sights.

Like the goldfish catching game. Shouyou kneels down, resting his forearms on his knees, and Kenma averts his eyes from the dark marks peeking out from his sleeves. They both try until they’re out of money to catch at least one; Kenma almost succeeds, but it splashes out at the last second and the paper dissipates before he can try again. Despite the bustling crowd and how they’re pushed every which way, Kenma feels relaxed. When they have the space their clasped hands swing between them, and Shouyou grumps about people having to cheat in order to even one goldfish from games like that.

It makes Kuroo’s grin all the better when he meets back up with them; it curls like the Cheshire cat’s when Shouyou gapes at the two bags he’s carrying, filled with water and with a single goldfish in each. Kuroo gives them one each and leads them out of the thinning crowd; the string is heavy caught by two of his curled fingers, but it feels a little lighter when Hinata leans closer and mutters, “He must’ve caught ‘em like a cat,” in the most conspiratorial voice he can muster.

 

\--

 

On the morning of the final festival day, Tetsurou doesn’t find Kenma tucked into his side or anywhere in the room. It’s enough to send a shiver of worry to the base of his spine - that guy doesn’t move until someone drags him halfway out of bed - and he treads softly to look for his friend. It’s as if his wrist leads him, pushing open the door to the balcony, and he breathes out when Kenma tilts his head back to look at him.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Kenma turns back to watching the sun rise, too early for either of them and yet not early enough, and tightens the hug on himself. Couldn’t sleep. Tetsurou steps out into the morning, delightfully cool for the moment (because it’ll be hot today, muggy and sweaty and no, he’s not really looking forward to spending a day at a festival, but it’s the last day; it’s Kenma’s request) and carefully shuts the door behind him. He leans against the rail beside Kenma, tilting his head a little to watch the pudding head squeeze his knees to his chest.

“I know I said you should tell him,” and Kenma glances at him, eyes widening a bit -- as if Kuroo wasn’t going to know what he was worrying about? please, “but I was just teasing. I told you because you asked me.”

Tetsurou grips the rail tightly, leaning back on his heels with a sigh. “Shorty’s nothin’ like you were back then though, so I wouldn’t worry about him being all self-conscious about why you two are friends. You’ve got plenty of time if you wanna tell him at some point, too.”

Kenma makes a sound that sounds like _i know_ but could very well mean _fuck off, kuroo_ , and he cards his fingers through his bedhead with a sigh, rocking forward again.

“Just relax, okay? It’s a festival. Have fun.”

( _It doesn’t matter_ , essentially, and Kenma feels an old resentment flare up as the sun peeks over the edge of the horizon.)

The last day heralds a lot of things, but the most important of all is the arrival of Hinata Natsu, eight years old and as energetic as her name suggests.

 _She’s even shorter than Shrimp-chan,_ Tetsurou notes, but that’s to be expected considering her age. Her curfew’s apparently going to be dinnertime, which means Hinata’s only staying here that long too; Kenma looks torn between relief and disappointment, and Tetsurou taps his shoulder lightly to rouse him back into reality. Natsu looks up at him as she holds her big brother’s hand, eyes surprisingly watchful for a girl so young, and the first thing she tells him is that she likes his rooster head.

Kenma finds it hard to stifle his laughter, but that gets easier when Tetsurou grits his teeth and pulls him close into a not-too-tight chokehold -- even if hearing something like that out of Kenma is a welcome change from the tired grumblings of the morning. Hinata cackles unabashedly at the sight and tugs Natsu into a hug as he pledges to protect his sister; his sister only wiggles and squirms in thanks, tiny hands finding their way to his hair and tugging hard with an insistent lemme go, I can take him! until Hinata submits to her orders.

“She’s too small of prey for me anyway,” Tetsurou drawls and loosens his grip on Kenma, slipping his hand to touch the other’s wrist lightly. Kenma’s hand withdraws immediately and he keeps a sigh to himself, behind pinned lips and his own hands slipping into the yukata’s sleeves in deference to Kenma’s discomfort about the characters written on his skin. “You’re _barely_ the right size for a meal too, Shorty. Must run in the family.”

“Maybe a kid’s meal,” Kenma murmurs absently, and Tetsurou lets his mouth quirk up -- especially with Hinata’s hurt look and the way Kenma, startled, gets tugged between the two sunbeams in defiance of his slightly taller status. It’s a relief to see him acting like this (when all he can think of are overcast skies and quiet refusals to go out and Kenma knelt over a toilet, not sick but knuckles white on the seat while he stares at the wall) and he brushes off any stirrings of jealousy that try to sprout in his chest at how easy it is for Kenma to smile around Natsu and Hinata.

He brushes away any relief he gets out of seeing Kenma panic when Natsu starts crying, holding a broken sandal in her tiny hands. Her other one’s still on her foot, but like any child she’s only focused on what isn’t right right now. Hinata starts to kneel down, but Tetsurou sees his chance and scoops her up instead.

“Don’t like walking barefoot, little princess?”

Hinata gags at the nickname and Kenma’s panicked look recedes the way waves do as the moon travels the sky; Tetsurou adjusts Natsu in his arms, reaching up to wipe tears away from her eyes, and shrugs.

“Can’t be helped,” he muses despite her lack-of reply. “I’ll just have to carry you. Come on, let’s get some place with better lighting and I’ll fix up your sandal. Sound okay to you?”

She nods with a sniff, arms looping around his neck and her sandal banging harshly against his back. Hinata frowns at him, the anger at being upstaged in the big brother department easy to read across every centimeter of him, and he shrugs. “Keep an eye on Kenma, Shorty. The whole reason we’re out this far is because you two wanted to go to the festival together.”

Hinata opens his mouth to retort, then closes it when none apparently jumps right to his mind. Tetsurou turns with a wave, rocking Natsu in his arms as he carefully makes his way through the festival, lit up with dozens of lanterns.

 

\--

 

It’s true, in a sense. He had asked Kuroo if he’d like to come, even if it was mainly just to see Shouyou. The  ginger’s still frowning, pouting over his title being stolen, and Kenma watches the ground as they walk. The crowds are thinner than in the afternoon - most of them heading to watch fireworks now - and Kenma thinks about the name on his wrist like he’s never thought about it before. How it might feel nice to tell Shouyou about it, how it might be nice to at least have said it and tried than to not have tried at all. The further they get from crowds - and he notices, too late, they’re following Kuroo and Natsu’s trail - the more he wants to tug Shouyou and ask him to wait.

Maybe he says it outloud, because the ginger stops a few seconds after the thought. He looks over, pout fading into curiosity, and Kenma feels his throat seize up. It’s laying beneath the summer sun again, the gentle sound of the river behind his head and the insistent shadow of a volleyball bouncing across his face from dancing on outstretched fingers. It’s watching Kuroo catch the volleyball and tucking it beneath his arm, the other one outstretched in reply to a question he had desperately wanted an answer to but had never wanted to ask. It’s dragonflies buzzing on the way home, feeling as numb as arms plunged elbow-deep in snow.

It doesn’t matter, but Kenma swallows back the fear that things’ll somehow change for the worse

(and wonders if Kuroo felt like this, showing him his soulmate even though he had no way of knowing who Kenma had; that’s the only trump card he has at the moment, knowing that his name isn’t the one on Shoyuou’s wrist, and knowing that even though him and Kuroo don’t match up either they’re still best friends and that’ll be how things are for as long as he wants them to be -- which is forever, incidentally, because a life without ever being able to talk to Kuroo is one he can’t imagine, even if he’d never say it and knows full well he’ll never have to)

and raises his right hand.


End file.
